The Price Of Breathing
by MirrorMyThoughts
Summary: Sometimes Merlin wished he was normal, because for normal people, breathing had no price.


The Price of Breathing.

Sometimes when he used magic, he felt Gaius's eyes on him. The physician hid it well enough, but the confusion, the calculating stare remained; burning into his skin. He knew why he was _gifted_with such looks: his magic. Gaius had seen him use magic, pure unrestrained magic, so instinctual it was like breathing. Only, breathing didn't come with a price.

Therefore the physician did not -could not- understand why he failed spells on his first... Second… Third attempt. Why did he risk discovery, levitating noisy, jingling keys behind Arthur's back, instead of merely summoning them from the safety of his own room. Why, did he end up saving the day at the last minute, when he could have _easily_, so _easily_ prevented everything, with little more than a change in eye colour; not even really needing to put his vocal cords to use.

However Merlin knew the price of magic. Of his magic. He'd _seen_the price. It was a price he could not -would not- pay. No if's, ands, or buts. He _would not pay._

The Crystal of Neahtid had shown him the price…the price of his magic; of his power.

Upon touching it, within its surface he'd seen who he used to be, who he was, and finally … and possibly most importantly, who he _could_ be. He merely touched it. There was no focus, no words, no power behind his action. Yet the crystal had pulsed beneath his finger tips, had given up its secrets so readily. He'd felt its power yearning for his own, temping it, enticing it. Showing it all it could be, all it could have… all _Merlin_ could have.

He'd seen himself, years from then, years from now… years he so desperately wanted to avoid. He'd seen himself, stood before great kingdoms, great cities, great _walls_.

Sat on a log, in the middle of a forest, the rough bark irritating his skin, hand clasped harshly around the Crystal, Merlin had _seen_. Seen himself, stood, tall and sturdy, like the oldest of trees. He'd seen himself **force** those walls down, force entire cities to their knee's. He'd watched, in horror, his hand glued to the shining gem, its deceptive light throwing shadows around him, as he _broke_ kingdoms, cities, _men._ Took their freedom, their right to life. His future self took it, melded it, warped it into a world that haunted Merlin's dreams.

After that, Merlin thought it was over, that the vision was done, but it wasn't… how could it be. He had only seen his power over men. Next, even though he shut his eyes, not wanting to see any more, he'd seen _magic_ crumble. Images danced across his closed eyelids as he looked on powerless, as Magic was forced, man handled, into a leash that he alone had control of. Nymphs, unicorns, _old_ creatures enslaved to his will. No sound left his dirt smudged lips, but inside he was screaming, and he wasn't alone.

His magic was screaming too.

For his future self had eyes that no longer glowed the radiant gold of a sunrise, instead they shone with a solid hardened gold, the gold of a cold superficial item of jewellery. Not needed, not alive, cold.

Their scream, his and his magic's, echoed, reverberated, rebounded through there skin, shaking their very foundations. Magic and boy alike _wrenched_ free of the crystal, recoiling from the pain the separation caused, the hollowed out part of his soul that never before had Merlin dreamed existed now burned with a fierce emptiness. He barely felt the crystal fall from his numb fingertips, instead Merlin was far more focused on the glistening tendrils snaking towards him, relentless and consuming in their desperation, to re-bond… to again sample his magic; his power.

Subconsciously he felt his magic retaliate in disgust. Pulsing. Flaring. Showing just enough strength and anger, to scare away the devilish little whispers snaking across the forest floor towards him, but never touching the thin illusory vines of magic oozing from the once breathtaking crystal.

Yet no amount of beauty could hide the dark, dangerous, poisonous images forced into his mind. He swallowed heavily, forcing down the nausea. It couldn't be true. That _could not_ be his future.

_But it could be_, the jewel flickered, attempting again to draw him in, with no care for the futures outcome, no sentiments- no worries about the demise of man, the enslavement of magic. Power it wanted, power it searched for, … and power it had found.

Even Merlin could not deny the constant fire he felt warming his blood, soothing his aches, but he also felt the fury that without his control lashed out at his enemies, and the enemies of his friends, of those he most loved. It was wild, untamed and unfortunately unmatched.

_That_ was what the vision had shown him.

In the future, his power had consumed everything, left nothing in its wake and had never, not even for a moment, encountered anything that could wound him, let alone stop him. He'd been the ultimate destroyer, the ultimate weapon. What shook him the most was that it was not just his magic that destroyed; he had not become an overwhelmed conduit. He was behind the wheel. The raw instinctual, unnatural force had _danced_from his fingertips, leapt from his eyes and flowed from his lips.

In the last few moments before he'd severed the connection between the smooth, pulsing rock and his own pulsing flesh, he'd felt it. The power, the control and the sheer force of everything…

Power corrupts, and only now did Merlin realise…

… even he was not incorruptible.

Even now, with the jewel far from his reach, and Gaius's eyes on his back, he felt its call. The thrum of its magic, that still desperately called for his own, the _future_ that screamed his name. Merlin: the conqueror… Merlin: the destroyer.

With every fibre of his being he rejected the future of broken kingdoms and falling walls. Rejected the future where he had complete and utter control. It wasn't him, it couldn't be. He wouldn't _let_ it be.

So he'd 'stuff up' spells, struggle to control his magic, and he forced the unnecessary words from his lips, relishing in the way his mother's way of speaking- his mother's accent- halted the natural flow of magic, disrupted the ease with which he summoned his power. Once again, his mother, a woman with no outstanding power within her form, no magic of note, saved her son. Saved him from his greatest foe, his power, his magic... Himself.

He was also saved by her morals, her normalcy. She'd always shown him you didn't have to be a king to be happy, didn't have to be a king to succeed in life. She showed him you could have _nothing_yet still be undeniably happy. Even after he found his father, and realised what had broken his family- That Uther Pendragon, the man who's son Merlin trusts with his life, who he constantly protects, was the cause…

… but he also knew it was magic, the very magic that coursed through his veins that contributed to the empty spot in his family. If his father hadn't been a Dragon lord, he never would have been hunted through the kingdom, maybe his mother could have had the life she'd always dreamed of. Maybe he would have fitted in more, if he didn't ability to set fire to Jack the cow farmer's trousers…

So when his father had died, telling him he was now a dragon lord, that he had gained yet another power to his already impressive collection, he'd felt a little more of him die inside, as it looked like he really would turn out as the stone fore saw.

He'd ridden out to face the Kilgharrah, confidant in his ability to stop the dragon, yet fearful about his ability to control himself. So of course when he'd been forced to step in, forced to use magic to save Arthur, to stop the great Dragon… he'd done it first try. Allowed the seriousness of the situation dictate his actions, this was no time for repeat attempts, the dragon knew him. Knew exactly what he was capable of.

The dragon had expected Merlin to kill it. Had flinched as Merlin thrust the spear forwards. Merlin had felt its confusion and its relief… and it scared him.

"I have shown you mercy." He had yelled his voice horse and painful. The words necessary to control such magic were not meant for the soft fleshy throats of humans. "Now you must do the same to others."

"… what you have shown, is what you will be."

That was what Merlin clung to, no matter what he would always show mercy. No matter the consequences, no matter how other people may be harmed by his actions. He would not impose his magic, his power on anybody, because everyone, good and bad people alike deserved a _chance_. No matter how devastating or potentially painful that chance was, because when it came down to it, he had to choose the lesser of two evils.

If he was honest with himself, it wasn't really even a choice, at least in a future where he's not the supreme overlord, people have a fighting chance. (A thought swirled across his mind: _Magic has a chance_, but he ignored it.) So no matter the pain to himself, he swore he'd give _everyone_ that future.

Sometimes Merlin wished he was normal, because for normal people, breathing had no price.

* * *

AN: Erm, yeah.. I'm excited for Merlin season three.. (not long now!) and this.. thing.. just sorta popped into my head. ^_^ besides, I like Merlin's magic and wanted to attempt to justify why he doesn't just blast the bad guys to tiny pieces..

Anyways, thanks for reading :)


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